


Denying the Dead

by RanOutofBatteries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I have no idea where this is going, Sort of? - Freeform, Time Travel, oh well, well he came from the future and read the books i'd say it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RanOutofBatteries/pseuds/RanOutofBatteries
Summary: David Gaunt was a bitter man. (Where one man dies and wakes up as Harry Potter, and he regrets ever reading the book series.)





	1. Chapter 1

David Gaunt was a bitter man.

He flinched whenever he heard loud noises. His response was to jerk as if he were about to make a wild, unconscious movement before stopping himself. He had loud, sudden images of bullet-filled carcasses, the phantom taste of gunpowder on his tongue and the frantic sense to always stay alert. His hand twitched at times, remembering the feeling of cold metal.

His parents had noticed at once that something had changed when he returned home. He was absentminded, his mind drifting at inopportune times. It took a couple of times for him to respond to whatever question they were asking. They questioned his behavior. "When they tell you to give up your life for your country, eventually you become numb," he told them dully. "I stop thinking so I can forget faster. They tell you to keep moving. I've been trained for this, they tell me. Keep moving, keep going forward, and we push at the front lines for days, but then they suddenly tell you to pull out and we find that all our progress was wasted for nothing."

And then he laughed. It was a bitter, broken sound, and his mother had to leave the room afterward. "I was hoping to die myself at that point."

At night, his hands moved by themselves. Muscle memory cradled his hand to a phantom gun, and autopilot response woke the house with his bloodcurdling screams. When his eyes closed, he could see flashes of bright lights and the bodies of the men beside him. He dreamt only in nightmares.

Nobody comes from a war unchanged, after all.

"Counter-Strike: Global Offensive is a simple yet complex game, and the weapons are definitely not like other first-person shooters. With most weapons, you can't aim down the sights. You need to learn about crosshair placement and spray control before you can polish your skills. Each weapon has its own..."

The sound of gunshots scared him. He put on headphones whenever his brother started to watch playthroughs on the television, and when his mother tried to help David told her to drop it. It was fine, he said, and she turned her eyes to him with such pity that he felt his veins turn to ice. "You'll be fine," she murmured to him. "It's alright."

David Gaunt returned to the battlefield without much issue. He swore his nervous parents to secrecy and left quickly. Weeks later, when his mother finally told them that her son was suffering from trauma and should return home, it was too late. He died by the hand of his own squadron, one trigger-happy member aiming too fast. He remembered the final breath he emits before his eyes closed, and his last prayer was to finally be granted respite.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark and he could not see.

His hands were trembling, still in aftershock when the bullet had made contact and the split second of agony. He blinked once. Twice. He moved a hand to his face. His hand then roamed down to pinch his arm. "Am I dead?" He asked aloud, but nothing answered him. Then he squinted. There was something on his face.

He slowly reached up and plucked the glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"What the fuck," he said, before the room he was laying in exploded.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was in the kitchen when the cupboard door blasted open. She shrieked and dropped a dish, and the pieces shattered all over the tiled floor.

Harry crawled out, disheveled and covered in dust. His glasses were askew, his hair wild and untamed, though he ignored his foggy lenses and took them off instead. His eyes locked with hers and narrowed.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked. Petunia felt the blood drain from her face.

"Have you gone stupid, boy?" She screeched furiously. "Get back in the cupboard!" He continued to stare at her strangely.

"Alright then," he replied, much calmer than her own outburst. He walked over to the table and picked up one of the envelopes conveniently laying there, scanning the back. His eyes widened a fraction and he paused. "...You're joking."

He ran past her to look at his reflection in the window. He made a startled noise and peered closer, blinking. "Holy shit." He grabbed his hair and shook the remaining dust off, littering the floor and furthering the mess he'd made with the dirt he'd tracked into the kitchen.  _"Holy shit."_

Petunia felt that surge of irritation return and she snapped her fingers. Harry jumped three feet and turned to her, shattered glasses impairing his sight. "Look at this mess! Go! Get out! Clean yourself off, the hose is outside!"

He flexed his fingers, oblivious to her words. He cautiously wiped his broken glasses on his shirt, leaving a black stain on his oversized clothes. "Okay," he replied absentmindedly, and he walked out of the kitchen without looking back. Petunia stared at the shards of plate on the floor, entirely perplexed.

Harry soon walked back in, holding half of the broken door. "Uh...I didn't tell you earlier, but-"

"Get out," she said, having the strong urge to sit down and put her head in her hands. He left the kitchen.

Once Harry washed off and re-entered his soot-stained cupboard, he set to work cleaning off the walls with a towel he found in the bathroom. Still in slight shock, he began to make repetitive, monotonous swipes, cleaning the dirty floor and the walls dusted in black. He wondered if it would get into any of the condiments stored on the shelves.

As soon as he had read the name "Vernon Dursley, 4 Privet Drive" on one of the envelopes, he almost snorted in disbelief. However, when he went to check the glass window, he could see himself clearly: the pair of taped-up glasses, the shirt that was several sizes too large, and the body that  _was not his._ He understood little, and he had yet to understand why he was even alive in the first place.

What had happened when he died? He remembered the short, sudden feeling of agony along his temples and at the center of his forehead. It was a clean shot, just as David had turned his head and met the front of a gun for that split second. (He couldn't blame that guy: he had been pulled out as well. Apparently, his own squadron had died just days ago, and he had to be transferred to another.) He rubbed the place where the bullet had marked him and paused when he felt something there.

He traced the mark. It fell in a zigzag, and David knew what it was at once. His eyes closed, feeling the maniacal urge to laugh. He was a boy from a fictional series. He was in a goddamn book about  _magic._

He continued to wipe at the floor until it was clean and the towel was dark with ash. He passed by a traumatized Petunia, who seemed to be questioning her existence as much as he did his own.

"I'll make dinner tonight," she said dazedly. Harry stopped, shrugged, and went to clean the towel out.

Later that day, Vernon returned home from work. He harrumphed as he sat down in the living room, picked up his coffee, and glanced toward the still-broken cupboard door, hanging off its hinges. He choked.

_"WHERE ARE YOU, BOY!"_

When he went to check the kitchen, Petunia glanced over to the hallway. "Leave him alone," she waved at him. She was still in shock, it seemed. "We'll buy a new door."

Vernon made as if to argue, but something on Petunia's face must have deterred him. "Well? Where is he, anyway?" He snapped.

Harry was sitting on the couch facing away from the door, the one facing directly towards the television. The fact that Vernon hadn't seen him when he walked in, coupled with the fact that Vernon usually sat there, angered him immensely. He was asleep. "Get up," he barked. The boy didn't move.

He clamped one hand down hard on the boy's shoulder. "Get up, I said, you stupid-"

Harry jerked violently, eyes wide open and terrified. It was so strong that Harry very nearly fell off the couch, his hands trembling. "Get away from me!" He screamed. Vernon took a step back, alarmed.

Harry was shivering so hard that he seemed as if he were spasming. His breathing was irregular, his eyes blown wide in horror, but they stared right through Vernon. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated under his breath, incredibly tense. The cup in Vernon's hand broke.

Petunia came to the living room. The table was floating off the ground, and the coats by the door were swirling by Harry's figure. Her eyes locked with Vernon's, and with a sudden heave she tugged him toward the stairs.

They huddled upstairs by Dudley's room as the entire house trembled on its supports. Neither of them could say it aloud, but they could feel a buzzing in the air, unadulterated magic running amok in the mind of the boy in the living room. There were a couple more minutes of crashing glass and the knocking of furniture: then, silence.

After another minute of waiting for precautionary measure, Petunia took the first step back downstairs. The living room was a mess: dents covered the walls from where the chairs crashed into it, the coffee table was knocked askew, and the coats lay all over the floor. The television was impaled completely by a floor lamp without its lightbulb. The only thing that lay unharmed was Vernon's couch, which remained in the same spot that it had before. Harry was standing right next to it, and his head turned to her as soon as she stepped foot into the vicinity.

He seemed completely lucid now, but he seemed out of sorts. "I-" He swallowed hard. Holding a hand up, the room immediately straightened itself to its previous form and the furniture reassembled themselves. Petunia could do nothing but hold her breath. "I'm sorry."

He stumbled to the cupboard, fixed the door with a wave of his hand, and closed it shut behind him.

* * *

This is partly for stress relief, partly for finally writing this out because Harry Potter is important to me and I needed this. I don't know how often I'll be updating this because I'm working on my other story, but I know that I'll come back to it. It's rather short, but the next chapter definitely won't be. Thank you for reading, and I'll hopefully update during the break.

Have a good day, and see you in the next chapter!

 


	2. Chapter 2

 David was not one to be fascinated with magic. 

When his mind was so shaped by his previous experiences, the past with machine guns and weapons and dangerous firearms, he could somewhat grasp the adrenaline he felt when holding one. That was also why it seemed so lethal to him: the scar on his forehead proved that quite obviously.

He did not read the Harry Potter books for his own enjoyment. His brother had demanded him to read it when they were younger, and David had complied willingly. The idea of spells had seemed so interesting to him the first time they went through it. Now, when he closed his eyes and imagined through the moments of a duel, the bright sparks behind the force of a spell and the swish of robes, he could see the bright light of a cannon firing, the deafening bang of gunfire. Magic was chaotic, a destructive force. After all, his emotions had ruined the house the first night he'd arrived at the Dursleys.

He was wary of his magic now, knowing how deeply emotions connected to accidental magic. He did not quite remember the view for casting wandless: was it accidental until he was an adult, or just when he could not command his spells? - but he recognized his trauma. He had woken up on Vernon's couch with the living room in shambles, and he had been horrified. If that was how far his magic could go during his sleep, he thought as his face paled, then what would he do with these constant nightmares?

Harry had woken up the next morning in the cupboard again, remembering he had walked back in a half-daze. Cautiously he tried the door, remembering that Vernon had locked the boy in based on the books, but it swung open without a problem. Light crept in through the window at the kitchen, lighting the hallway. Harry guessed it was early morning.

He checked the calendar nailed to the wall carefully, wondering just what year he was in. How old was Harry, again? The year said it was 1991, but to his frustration he could not remember if that was when he'd started Hogwarts or not. Upon noticing a red circle around the date and considering that the previous days had all been marked off, he read the scribbled writing in the box. 'DUDLEY'S BIRTHDAY', it read in red marker. With three lines underneath, there was an extra message: 'Going to zoo'.

"Oh, fuck."

Harry held his breath. He turned around, counted to three, then breathed back out in a sigh as he stared up towards the ceiling. "Oh my god," he said out loud.

He put his hand slowly to his temples. This was the beginning of the book. At least, Harry's part in it. He would speak Parseltongue to a snake and further prove his incessant stroke of bad luck before having himself locked up for the rest of the school year. With a clear, logical decision, he spun back around in the hopes to get back in the cupboard and stay there for the duration of Dudley's birthday. "Nope. Hell no. I'm going back in before-"

However, the sound of footsteps made him tense immediately, and Harry's eyes darted to watch the stairs.

Petunia stiffened upon seeing him, and Harry nodded his head awkwardly as he remembered the previous night. Both Vernon and Petunia would likely avoid talking to him much now. "Good morning," he said warily.

"Good morning," she responded just as warily, edging past him as if he would attack her at any moment. Harry stepped back to let her by. "I'll be going to the kitchen, go - I mean, do what you like. Harry."

"Can I stay at home today?" He quickly added before she could retreat. She paused at that, eyes narrowing.

"Mrs. Figg will be looking after you today, I can't just-" She stopped before she could say anything else, managing a forced smile. "I'll call her later. Now  _go_."

Harry decided not to push it and went to go get the newspaper. A thought occurred to him just before he could reach the door, though, and he turned back to the kitchen. "Actually, I heard Mrs. Figg broke her leg."

"What?" Petunia called. She was already distracted. "Okay, fine. We'll have to lock you in the house, then, so  _don't do anything_." Satisfied, Harry bent down to pick up the papers and dropped it by the kitchen table before returning to the cupboard. He would not step one foot outside today.

Unfortunately, Vernon had other plans.

* * *

"Why does he have to go," Dudley cried, face turning red in a similar fashion to Vernon's. Apparently, Dudley was a very heavy sleeper, and he had no recollection of what had transpired last night. He confusedly watched his parents eye Harry from time to time, Petunia being the more nervous of the two. "I don't want him to go!"

Vernon dragged Harry to the living room. Harry followed without a fight, and as soon as they were out of earshot Vernon let go as if he'd been scalded. "Listen, boy," the man whispered furiously, jabbing his finger in Harry's face, "do not ruin this trip for Dudley. I don't trust you with holding the fort, so you're gonna come with us."

Harry grimaced. This was not what he wanted. "Can I sit in the car, at least?"

"Boy, I will not say it again," he shouted. Harry was pulled forward by the collar of his oversized shirt. " _You're_  gonna-" Remembering the events last night, Vernon paled and changed tactics, letting go. "...fine. But  _don't_  ruin the car."

"Right."

That was the closest thing to an agreement that they could come to, but Harry was just glad that he didn't have to actually enter the zoo. Vernon said nothing else to him, but he did hear him barking at Dudley to 'let Piers sit in the middle, don't let Harry sit next to you'. Harry ignored the both of them and turned inward to focus on minding the energy coiling within him.

He could feel it: it pulsed like a second heart, boiling hot in his veins when he grew mad and settling when he calmed. He spread his hands out, palms facing up, and Piers gave him a strange look when he drew marks on his arms where his scars used to be. Harry could feel his magic turn in his fingers, ready to be used at a moment's notice. This was what holding a rifle in his hands felt like, he thought, feeling a thrum run through his body like an engine: and yet, there was something else to it that made it seem even more familiar.

To their luck, they parked in a shady area so that the car wouldn't heat up too badly. Petunia pulled a window down partly before ushering Piers and Dudley away. Harry gave a thumbs up when Vernon turned back around to park the car: the man scowled and hurried away after them.

He checked to see if anyone was around, but crouched at the floor of the car just in case, leaning forward to sit comfortably. David remembered a part of himself when he reached for his magic: volatile, bright, and childlike, something he had discarded long ago. His magic reminded him of that. It was a bittersweet feeling, he thought, watching a magazine Petunia had discarded in the front seat begin to float over to his spot. His hand spun paper cranes into the air, flapping around his head like a particularly excited circlet of colors. How was it that his previous innocence returned so easily...?

A smile came to his face as he stared up at the birds. He held up a hand and one landed on his palm. Suddenly, he heard a thump in the driver's seat and the bird stopped moving.

His cranes dropped in an instant. Harry sat still to make sure he made no noise whatsoever. There was movement and the sound of leather, and Harry leaned past the front seat to peer closer.

There was, to his disbelief, a snake staring back at him.

"No, no no no," Harry said to himself. He jerked back, breaking eye contact immediately. He was sure he would've avoided this situation. "Oh my god." He drew back as the snake came closer, and immediately his cranes formed a shield. "Wait!"

_"You are a speaker. Who are you?"_

"Wha-" He nearly fell backward when he heard its reply, heart beating quicker. "I didn't even..." He put a hand to his scar, but then shoved the entire thought to the back of his head. He would stew over it later. "I could ask the same," he retorted, sitting back upright. The birds fell back as the snake advanced, eyeing them with a hungry gaze. "Don't eat them."

_"Are you afraid of me?"_  The snake asked, tilting its head. The cranes flew back and quivered in his hair, and Harry glared up at them for betraying their creator.  _"I don't bite. You'd be too big to eat, anyway."_

Harry bared his teeth. "I'm not afraid of snakes. It's just..." Harry looked outside to check for any suspicious characters peeking in. "You gotta go."

He carefully picked the snake up and poked its head back outside, but it simply turned back around to come back in.  _"It's too hot,"_  the snake whined in complaint. " _I want to stay here."_

"If they see you, you're gonna get me in trouble," Harry bit back, but dropped the snake back on the seat anyway. "Fine. Don't complain when you end up miles from home."

The snake coiled next to his leg, sated and content. Harry frowned at his sudden and strange companion but moved over so that he could pry a bird free from between the seats.

Harry wondered if his magic was supposed to come to him so easily at this time. He was brimming with untapped energy, and he could feel it ready to overflow like the mouth of a teapot under a running faucet. Maybe that's why his magic was so destructive, he realized as he lit one finger with a  _lumos_ spell. He should be careful.

He placed one crane in his hand and focused. At his touch, the crane levitated easily. He glanced back at the snake with a more critical eye, noticing the pattern. It was a pretty garter snake, he supposed.

"...Magic is strange," Harry sighed as his finger traced a path in the air and the crane followed, floating over to the front seat. The residing serpent struck at the moving target, but it jerked up out of reach playfully and tittered. "It's so unreal. It's unlike anything I've ever felt. I thought the movies captured the concept of it perfectly: the idea of spells and creatures and lore were all there. It was fascinating. I forgot all of that when I went to war, and to be honest I'm still having problems trying to recall my previous hobbies." He let the crane drop and the snake coiled around it. Harry rubbed his forehead absentmindedly, feeling the scar there once again. "I wonder if something like this can be fun," he murmured to himself.

The back of his neck prickled, and Harry's eyes darted up to see the Dursleys returning. He picked up the snake, ignoring its halfhearted protests, and stuffed it under his collar just as Dudley opened the door. "Move it, punk," he said to Harry, crushing one of the paper cranes beneath his heel. Harry scooted over to let Piers sit next to him, turning to stare out the window as they began to drive back.

Piers seemed oddly uncomfortable in Harry's presence. As Harry studied the scenery passing by, he turned to Dudley and whispered quickly: "What's wrong with his eyes?"

"What's wrong with them?" Dudley returned, sneering over at Harry. His head was turning away from them with his head resting on one hand. "Yeah, nothing a punch to the face couldn't fix." However, Piers shook his head.

"No, I mean..." He turned his head a little, peering back at the oblivious boy. "His eyes look dead. Or old. Something like that." Dudley stared at his friend as if he'd gone insane.

"The ice cream's probably gotten to your head," he dismissed, and in fifteen minutes they were back at the Dursleys'. Harry disappeared before any of them could get out of the car.

He walked to the cupboard and closed it, dumping the snake out from underneath his shirt as soon as he did so. Luckily he wore something underneath it, for it would've been a bit awkward for the both of them. "Sorry about that," he apologized, picking up a piece of paper and clicking on a penlight. The snake curled up in the corner, hidden among the other items stored in the cupboard.

" _That was an experience,_ " the snake replied, sticking its head into a bag. _"Ooh, spiders."_

Harry wracked his head for any further events regarding the time he was in. The calendar showed it was still a school month, but he could not recall much else. At least he wasn't under house arrest, he thought, remembering what had happened after Dudley fell into the boa constrictor tank. He frowned a bit, unsatisfied with such blurry recollection of the book. "Eat all of them if you'd like," Harry told the snake, pensive, before picking up a piece of paper. The snake slithered over to him curiously as he moved a box so that he could use it as a table.

"What are you doing?" It asked. Harry held his penlight up as he scribbled quickly, recalling what he already knew.

"...Right," he said, continuing to write.  _Hagrid, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Dumbledore, Lucius, Remus, Sirius, Pettigrew..._ The snake hissed impatiently. "Just writing. What's your name, by the way?" He asked. "I'm David."

For a brief moment, he paused, then shrugged and continued writing. It was not as if anyone would know. The snake gave out a series of hisses and clicks that Harry mistook for aggravation, but when there was no further response he turned his head. "Wait, that was your name?"

_"Yes,"_ the snake replied. Harry blinked. "Must've gotten lost in the translation, then," he muttered, continuing to scribble names and connecting events. "I'm probably not going to be able to say that. I'm gonna give you a nickname."

_Occlumency._ He vaguely remembered the term, furrowing his brow. Snape and Dumbledore both used Legilimency, and Harry wasn't quite sure if it required eye contact or not. He did not have the most stable mind, but he was able to blank out during stress-inducing situations. After all, being a prisoner of war required that as well. "Amal," he concluded, eyes drifting over to the snake. "My friend was named that."

_He died from a bullet to the shoulder._

The snake studied him for a moment. _"You have nice eyes,"_ it finally said. _"Green and melancholy. I like you."_

"...Thanks," Harry responded with a bit of surprise, wondering if his emotions really were as vividly displayed so that his expression could be described as such. He peeked under the cupboard door, hearing footsteps and the opening of Dudley's remaining presents. "I suppose I'll be staying in here for the rest of the day."

_"I can scare them for you,"_ Amal coaxed, but Harry simply shook his head.

"I scare them plenty enough" was his reply. Amal tilted his head but took his word for it, curling up beside the pillow Harry had fixed up, but Harry stayed by the box until it was nearly night and there were no more noises outside his door. His recollection for spells were on point, for some reason: magical beasts also came somewhat easily to him. To his concern, he could not remember the events during the last book very well. He'd used up the rest of his supply of papers and stared at his notes contemplatively, reading over them.

"Harry Potter will have too many brushes with death for my own comfort," he murmured. The papers levitated in the air, hovering at eye level. "Well, I suppose I'm not unaccustomed to that, either." He briefly considered the fact that should he alter the timeline, he could skew the results of every event afterward.

He stopped before he could think any further. "Live today," he whispered to himself, remembering his past squadron and the advice he'd had ingrained into his memory. "And dream of tomorrow."

He finally let the papers roll up, rubbing at his eyes irritably. "What was the spell?  _Incendio."_

The floating paper set on fire, and Harry waved away the ash before it could land anywhere near his sleeping arrangements. "G'night," he whispered to the ceiling above him as he lay down, spotting the slight hints of gleaming spiderwebs above him.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might go back and look over this later but I'm just gonna bulldoze my way through this


	3. Chapter 3

Harry practiced.

He hid himself in the cupboard, out of sight and out of mind. Amal kept watch for the telltale vibrations of incoming footsteps, which he was grateful for. If Petunia saw any more explosions or flying tableware, he was pretty sure she would have an aneurysm.

 _"Alohomora,"_ he whispered at the door. It unclicked easily, and Harry left to get some food from the kitchen. It was his easiest spell after all the practice he's had with it, and he closed the door behind him after Amal slithered out. He took a slice of bread from the loaf sitting on the table and left the house.

It was still early, and he yawned as he stumbled outside. He ate quickly and sat in a slumped position on the perch, listening to the telltale croak of the Natterjack toad. The warm winds came from the west, bringing a sense of calm and letting Harry crane his head back to stare at the sky. It was still pitch black, though he could just barely see the moon leaving silver silhouettes on surrounding clouds. Rain would come in torrents compared to the more eastern countries, he thought absentmindedly. Amal lunged at something streaking dark across the grass. It squeaked once and fell silent. Amal sighed in contentment.

"School's today," he murmured. He hated school. His teachers always told him to stop fidgeting as if he needed to go to the bathroom, but his classmates had been nice. Emotionally distant, not open enough to make friends, but they were nice. He picked up the garden hose coiled up in the back and cranked the nozzle a couple times before starting to spray the garden in front. He wound the coil at his feet until it stacked neatly against his weight, and he stuck one leg through the loop to keep it in place. He turned the spray off and dragged the coil back before looping it around the pipe.

An owl hooted as Harry picked up the snake and entered the house.

\- Denying the Dead -

Harry was expected to walk to school. Fortunately, the building was close, and so Harry could track down the car at a brisk pace. He followed Dudley in.

"Alright, class," the woman called out. Harry stepped on Piers' outstretched foot on the way to his seat and glared when the boy turned around to say something. To his surprise, Piers stiffened when Harry's eyes met his and turned his head to the front. "Today we'll be starting a new topic, which focuses on what we've learned last week: fraction and decimal multiplication!"

Harry spun his pencil in his fingers, looking around at the children around him. They seemed way too energetic for his taste in the way they sat attentively, tapping desks or bouncing feet. He remembered how  _young_ they were: he was in his twenties when he left. Dudley crumpled up one of the papers when the teacher's attention strayed to another row of seats, and Harry was left with none. He raised a hand.

"I handed out five exactly," she tutted disapprovingly. "Someone else probably has your paper."

Harry scratched his head, glancing over Dudley's victorious grin and the silent snickers of his gang. Dudley frowned at Harry's lack of response but stuffed the ball of paper into his desk and turned to attention. Harry leaned over to tap the shoulder of the girl to his right.

"Hey, mate, can I borrow your sheet for a sec?" He pulled out a blank piece of paper and nodded toward her sheet. "It'll be quick."

She passed her sheet over, and as soon as he scanned it he wordlessly cast the doubling charm with the contact of his fingers. He handed it back to her, and questioningly she rose a brow. He gave her a thumbs up in return, and with a shrug she turned back to her desk.

Harry finished within the minute. Glancing about, he started to spin his pencil between two fingers again. His dexterity was off: his fingers were shorter than they used to be, but they were still lanky and thin. He needed to gain some weight, because other than his speed he felt as if he could be knocked over like a twig.

"How're you doing that?"

Harry's head turned back. To his surprise, the girl who had given him her paper was talking to him. She was staring at his hand, and the pencil came to a stop on top of his knuckles. He held the pencil up. "The spin thing? It's easy."

"Harry!" They both jumped at the noise. Chastised, his gaze turned to the front as he put his pencil down.

"Yes?"

"Did you finish your problems?"

She motioned for him to come to the front. Harry grit his teeth but rose to hand his sheet to her. The snickering began once again, but one sharp word from her and the class was silent. She glanced over it once. "Still couldn't find your sheet?"

"Sorry," he muttered, flashbacks returning to teachers who blamed him for missing a paper or for being unable to answer a problem correctly. It didn't harm his grade, but he was bitter over the mistreatment and it burned through whatever respect he had for his elders. The woman's eyes darted to him upon hearing his words and went back to his notes just as quickly. As she reread the problems, her brows furrowed.

"Dudley, give me your paper," she announced suddenly. The boy sat front and center, but he had to stand up to comply due to his short arm span. Harry leaned over and plucked the paper from his grasp, earning a quick scowl from Dudley.

The woman blinked in surprise. "These are the wrong problems!" The students were all looking up by now, and she read over the problems with an increasing confusion that he had yet to understand. "I'm sorry, I must have mixed them up with my other class."

She was still holding Harry's sheet. "These-" she stuttered. "these answers are all correct."

"Yes?" He asked, a bit apprehensive. "Is that bad?"

"These were algebra problems," she said, eyes wide. "You learn this topic in Year 10. With the difficulty of pre-calc equations, these are for students in Year 12."

Harry felt a spasm run through him. He coughed. "Well, uh, algebra is an easy subject for me."

She stared at him a little longer than he appreciated, and his eyes averted. She flipped Harry's sheet of paper and wrote another problem down. "Solve this one while I hand out the right sheets."

Harry stared at the paper as she got up to recollect the work. It was simple enough, he thought in a panic, one of those long division problems. Did fifth graders learn this? He couldn't tell. He scribbled his answer, hoping for the best.

He shouldn't have even picked up the pencil.

"Harry," the teacher started, "do you have a tutor?"

"No," he replied, glancing over to Dudley, whose eyes darted between him and the woman with increasing unease. Harry wondered if Dudley was possibly a  _good student_.

"This is incredible," she said, checking his work. "Solve this for me."

This time, she went up to the board to write another problem. Half the class was staring up at the both of them, and Harry felt a little bit of fear crawling up his neck. Did she  _want_ him to be called out later? When she turned back toward him expectantly, he turned away.

"I can't solve it," he muttered. She held the chalk, regarding him with a solemn expression. His skin prickled with unease.

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Can't."

She hummed in discontent and raised a brow. "You learned this earlier in the year, did you not? I'll have to mention this to your teacher when he returns."

He could feel the thrumming of rage along his fingertips. His eyes widened in fear, and quickly he reined himself in. He nearly snatched the chalk from her at that point, attempting to soothe his emotions. His skin burned in rage, and the chalk piece nearly snapped in half as he answered the problem.  _I should've been more careful,_ he thought, his work getting messier by the second. Behind him the students stared agape.  _Why can't I fucking think before I act?_

He threw the chalk down with a satisfying _thunk,_ breathing through his nose. "Happy now?" If he sounded bitter, she didn't say anything, because she was smiling so wide he that his thoughts died away and wariness returned.

"Yes," she replied.

* * *

"He's smart, Arabella," she said excitedly to a now silent Mrs. Figg. "I didn't believe you until I saw it myself. I shouldn't have jumped to solutions so quickly."

The substitute teacher was a close companion of Arabella, having a muggle degree in teaching and taking over the class for a day or so. She could have found a better opportunity to recommend her the job, especially because the woman had no clue of the wizarding community. Arabella sighed. "I'd say so. He's orphaned and taken in by his relatives, but by the things I've seen from that Dursley family I don't believe they'd care for any sort of tutoring."

She glanced through the window over to said family's abode. Harry was outside watering the plants, and the woman leaned over to watch him. "He's so skinny," she tutted, drawing the shades down a little further. "His clothes are a tad too large. Look at how baggy his shirt is!"

Arabella pushed her face away. "Enough with the fawning, Tessa," she frowned, though amusement could not be hidden from her tone of voice. "Save it for your own children."

Tessa laughed, though she sobered far too quickly for it to be true. "Are they abusive?" She murmured quietly. "He has a strange accent as well. I could see scars."

"The one on his forehead? That's from the car crash with his parents when he was a babe," she dismissed. Tessa shook her head.

"No, Bell," she said, pointing. "Look at his hands."

Arabella leaned closer. Her eyes focused: when she stared long enough, she noticed it. Long, thin lines on the palms of his hands. "Looks like someone whipped him," Tessa remarked in disdain. "I wouldn't trust that Dursley family. I saw Dudley messing with him several times today, but I didn't think much of it then."

Their attention was drawn outside again when Harry darted fast, speeding like a dark bullet across the lawn. He lunged out to the middle of the street just as a car came driving down the road. The driver screeched to a halt, but it was too late: the front passed the point where Harry had been just a second before.

But Harry wasn't there.

Immediately Arabella stood up and covered the curtains. Tessa was running for the door, but Arabella kept a hold on her shoulder. "Calm down and I'll call the police," Mrs. Figg said, keeping an eye on the panicked driver as he stepped out of his car only to be confused by the lack of any remains. Already she was dialing the number for the Ministry of Magic: she would need an Obliviator for these two.

"He doesn't know yet," she whispered, keeping a wary eye on the window. "He's still underage."

Arabella's cat meowed convincingly.

\- Denying the Dead -

Harry put the snake back down. "Watch where you're going," he hissed.

Amal curled up. _"That car made such a racket that I couldn't feel where I was going."_

Harry sighed, swinging gently on the playground swing. His feet could not graze the ground, to his displeasure. "Why am I so thin?" He bemoaned, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I get hungry so fast, too."

 _"Then eat,"_ the snake replied. _"Your strange rituals in the morning seem to be making you hungrier, too."_

"Running will increase stamina," he denied, shaking his head resolutely.

Harry heard the rock faster than he could've seen it and he ducked quickly. Speeding over him was a rock the size of a pebble, followed by a curse. He stood up and turned around.

Dudley's gang had been increasingly pestering as of late, chasing after him at random intervals to try and rouse his anger by throwing elementary remarks and physical objects. "Fuck off, Dudley," Harry called out before he could censor his word choice.

Dudley laughed, coming out from behind the bush. "You think you can tell me what to do?" He gloated.

"Five against one," Harry replied. "That seems fair. Can't take me on by yourself, Diddly-kins?"

The boy turned red at that, stomping his foot. "I'll get you!" He roared, running forward without hesitation.

Harry could not deny the fact that Dudley was stronger, especially because of their weight difference. His experience in combat, however, was years ahead, and he would be damned if he'd been bested by a bully who still cried for not having enough presents on his birthday. He pulled back just as Dudley aimed a swipe to his head, slapping it upward and ducking underneath just as he pulled up past his elbow. His hand sliced out and punched Dudley square in the windpipe. He choked, bent forward and fell.

"Who's next?" He asked, eyeing the rest.

They spread out this time, strategizing far better than their leader had. Harry feinted toward the blonde and three of them turned to follow. He immediately changed course and went for Piers.

The boy scrambled back. "W-wait, I-"

Harry clocked him in the jaw. "Don't get up," he growled, and Piers fell limp on the ground. He grappled the next one closest to him.

The boy grabbed his arm. With the easiest turn of the wrist, Harry grabbed ahold and spun so that his back was aligned with his before driving his feet down and digging his elbow right into the boy's ribs.

When the guy keeled over, he was caught by the fourth.

"Don't move," the fifth one began as he smacked his fist to his palm threateningly. Harry grinned, leaned forward, and threw his head back to crack right against his assailant's nose.

The last one standing assessed his fallen companions and instantly came to a decision. "Don't tell Dudley," he cried out, terrified, before running off.

Harry stood there, breathing heavily. The knuckles on his hand were red from the force of his punch, and the back of his head tingled a bit. His eyes went to Dudley.

"Go tell your mummy, I dare you," Harry told him before winding Amal under the sleeve of his too-large shirt. From behind him he could hear Piers take an audible breath.

Before Dudley could look up and make a retort, Harry made a run for it. He'd have some time to sprint towards the house and steal some food before he was banned forever from eating. He'd probably have to lock himself in while he was at it.

It was totally worth the punch.

* * *

I'm gonna write longer chapters


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